Chieftain of the Dúnedain
by Artemis-E
Summary: A short story involving Elladan, Elrohir, and Arathorn, and the vaguely mentioned death of Aragorn's father.


All characters and places and such mentioned herein belong to Tolkien, not me, as is fairly obvious I think. I've made every effort to make this accurate as well as a good short story. Short stories are generally not my forte, but I've been working on improving. Well, enough talk, onto the writing…

Dusk was just beginning to set upon the Misty Mountains. The hues of first bright yellow and gold gradually changed over to orange, and then red, as the sky was dusted with faint pink and purple hues just visible over the peaks of the great cliffs beyond. The colors reflected stunningly off the snow that always blanketed the mountains.

It was a fine spring evening, the sky was just barely touched with clouds. The wind was blowing, whistling as it wound its way through the myriad of rocks that made up the meandering path that led from the elven haven of Rivendell to the western regions of Middle Earth. The air was chill, a reminder of winter's cold, even though the sparse but stubborn bright green spring growth had been breaking its way through early spring snows for several weeks now.

Down the path, heading for the western horizon, were three travelers on horseback. The first was a stern man, clad in a dark cloak. Though he had a forbidding look to him, he was not very old as far as his bloodline was concerned. His dark hair, not streaked with any grey yet, was just hidden by the hood of his cloak. His bright grey eyes swept around the surroundings rocks as his mount picked its way carefully down the path. He was grim and rugged in appearance, yet even so there was something noble and refined about him. Many things had befallen him in his years, both good and not. Still, this man of royal blood had persevered, and he was prepared to weather whatever else fate might throw at him.

His horse was much like him, in both appearance and manner. It was not a beautiful beast, being a dull shade of brown, but steadfast and as loyal as a rider could have asked. It plodded along carefully, patiently stepping around any obstacles that presented themselves. 

Two more horses followed this first along the path as it declined into a shallow and narrow valley. These two equines were of a very different nature from the first, and were evidently of an elven breed. Both were tall and slender, as graceful as dancers might be, and shockingly fast when need be. Their eyes were intelligent, and the manner calm and poised. One was a handsome dappled grey, and the other a lithe bay. The riders of these two were also obviously of elven origin.

Their hair was dark and held no taint of any other color, their eyes as grey as gathering storm clouds, and they were wearing identical light grey elven cloaks. It was difficult to tell the two apart, as they were indeed twins, and wore similar raiment and carried similar weapons of fine elvish make. The sons of Elrond were young in appearance as they had been for so many centuries. They were rarely ever home, not after the tragedy that had befallen their mother so long ago. She had endured torment in the orcs caves that the twins could not bring themselves to speak of, not even now. They hunted orcs tirelessly through the mountains ever since that incident. This was the very mission they were on this day. It was not always that they had the accompaniment but it was not unusual by any measure.

"Arathorn, it grows late," The elf that came down the grassy hill last observed, speaking just loudly enough to be audible. He did not want his voice echoing off the walls of the ravine that now towered around them. "We should not linger here for very long. I fear that this stretch of the path is not safe as it was only a month ago." His brother nodded his head in assent to this. There were no visible signs of orcs passing through this particular way, but after so many years of hunting them, the two had become very skilled at detecting their presence, even when other skilled warriors would have overlooked it.

Arathorn, Chieftain of the Dunedain, the Northern rangers, paused and then turned back to give his two companions a long look. "Just as well. I wish to return home soon," he replied shortly. As he spoke of home, a strange look passed over his face. He was thinking of his wife, and his young son. He had not yet said his first word when Arathorn had left home last, and now the lad was two years old. Gilraen had been so oddly troubled when he had left, though she could not explain why she was so. He did not admit it, but he was eager to return to his family.

The twins did not comment. They knew that he had a young son and a wife waiting for him. Their friend had changed somewhat over the past few years that they had known him. They had never seen this son of his, but it was hard to imagine him being anything but the very image of his father at the same age. The ranger did not notice this exchange as he urged his horse onward again.

The path ahead led them farther into the ravine, and past huge boulders that towered over them. Their shadows fell across the path in most places, but a little of the dying sunshine leapt across it every so often. It was narrow here, and it was very easy to be led astray from the road. These three would not become lost, as they knew these ways well, having been down them countless times.

A lone thrush chimed his song from a perch on a scraggly bush nearby. His usually merry voice sounded strangely sober in the impending twilight, and his song was short. In a flash of light brown, he passed over their heads and up towards the opposite slope. All were silent as the sound of his wings faded.

"He gives us his warning, it appears," Arathorn said. Indeed, the bird was the only living creature to make an appearance for sometime, and it did seem to be calling towards the riders. The mood grew more tense as the evening deepened, approaching night. Bows were readied at the elven part of the small convoy while the ranger quietly drew his sword. Sensing trouble nearby, they dismounted and left their horses in a sheltered spot before going ahead on foot to scout for any disturbance.

The evening shadows were now being lost as darkness had begun its march. Down in these valleys, after the sun set, it was not long before all light, save that of the moon and stars, was lost. Tonight a quarter moon shone dully in the eastern sky, and the stars were just now making their appearance.

In the middle of the valley where they found themselves, the path widened to a spacious grassy bottom. All was calm when they came upon it, perhaps too calm. The eerily quiet moment did not last long before the familiar zipping sound of arrows pierced the air. At once there was a flurry of movement.

Elladan and Elrohir had taken shelter from the hail of arrows to an overhanging rock on the western side, while Arathorn chose the eastern side's patch of trees. The twins answered the orcs with a volley of their own grey arrows, though it did not do them too well at first, as they could not see what they were shooting at.

"They've taken the far side of the rocks, up there," Elrohir said in a clipped tone. He picked off one of the orc archers, which had been just a dark shape against the sky. Elladan followed suit, now spotting the shadowy shapes shuffling along the lowest wall of rock farther ahead. It was fortunate that they had been cautious, and that no other traveler had come through here, unknowing of the threat. Despite the twins' work, these ways were still perilous.

Arathorn had found his own longbow, and assisted the two in picking off the archers above them. Just when they were beginning to gain the upper hand against these, their situation grew worse rapidly. From the east, more orcs came pouring in down the gravelly slope. The dark shapes were numerous in the gathering darkness back down on the road. These were joined from another horde approaching from the front.

It was an ambush not too cleverly set, as orcs never were accomplished of a great deal of wit, but it was dangerous nonetheless. The twin stars of Imladris and the Chieftain of the Dunedain had the advantage in that they had anticipated this attack. Still the orcs were far greater in number than was the usual among these mountains. They still posed a respectable challenge.

"We wandered into this foolishly," Elrohir muttered to himself as he concentrated on finishing the archers. Combating the rest on foot would be highly dangerous if there were still arrows sailing over their heads. Elladan drew his sword, and then peered over at his brother.

"Perhaps not the wisest way to spring a trap, but no matter," He said grimly before once again watching the scene before them. 

As the last orc on the ledge fell, Arathorn was already armed with his sword. The blade gleamed brightly in the light that was shining down from the stars that now dotted the early night sky. His eyes glinted similarly as he prepared to meet his oncoming foes.

By the time that the orcs had found them, the two elves and ranger were there to meet them. The first line of orcs were slain quickly, and the ones directly behind them fared no better. By the time that the were joined by the rest of their brethren, the three warriors had been separated but were holding their own, nonetheless.

The flash of steel was met by the screaming rage of dying orcs. Even though the orcs were being driven back, they would not be discouraged. The foul beasts fought on with a determination that surprised even Elladan and Elrohir, who had seen many hundreds of orcs in battle over their lives so far.

It so happened that the twins found themselves back to back, but they could not find their friend and comrade. Elrohir finally caught sight of him, some yards away still fighting to hold his place. He also saw the glint of moonlight on something back on the ridge. Realization came swiftly, even as Elladan cut down the last of their immediate foes.

"Arathorn!" Even as the warning cry came, Elrohir knew it was too late. Everything seemed to slow down, even as he and Elladan plowed through orcs to get to the ranger. It was as if they were watching a memory. One that would inevitably end in the same way, regardless what they did to try to stop it.

Either one archer had avoided the first assault, or another had crept up to take one's place. He loosed an arrow, and though one of the twins had already fired one in return, it was too late. As the orc fell, his arrow found its target unerringly. It was at that moment that Arathorn fell, dead even as the sons of Elrond came to his side.

They did not linger long, but plunged back into the fray with a fierce determination that was stunning. It was not long before the vale was quiet again. Most of their enemies' bodies lay scattered about the clearing. A scant two or three might have escaped, if that many. 

The wind had died and now the silence fell with an unsettling heavy aspect. Elladan was crouched at the side of their fallen friend, as Elrohir arrived to join his brother. It was a long time before any words were spoken.

"He fought well, and died in battle with honor," Elladan said emotionlessly. It was at times such as these that many would have misunderstood him. However, he was in the company of his brother, and no one knew him better than Elrohir.

"There was nothing we could have done," Elrohir answered quietly. They both knew it well, but it did not ease the pain of losing a friend. They had lost much to the orcs already. "Come, we should not stay here. We are not far from Imladris." Elrond would need to know of this, they both knew.

"No, we have a more important errand to do first," Elladan said as he straightened slowly, his gaze drifting up into the stars that shone down on them. "We ride west."


End file.
